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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526411">In other words, baby, kiss me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElephantLoveMedley/pseuds/ElephantLoveMedley'>ElephantLoveMedley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nothing matters but you [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Scars, Swimming, Tattoos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:13:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElephantLoveMedley/pseuds/ElephantLoveMedley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Like Atlas," Jean had whispered, awe in his voice and reverence in his movements, "holding the weight of the world on his shoulders."<br/>"Then I'm lucky to have you painting a beautiful world for me to hold." He had whispered back.</p><p>(Or: Kevin and Jean's holiday is ending and they're ready to face a new beginning, mostly.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kevin Day/Jean Moreau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nothing matters but you [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In other words, baby, kiss me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi!<br/>I just wanted to thank everyone who's reading and give a heads up for mentions of scars and bones, nothing too extensive or graphic, but it's still there.<br/>As always the translation for the few french sentences is in the end notes.<br/>While writing I listened to Fly me to the moon by Frank Sinatra. (I lied, I just listened to green day, but I needed the titles of these two parts to match.)<br/>Hope you like it!<br/>&lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kevin watched the light filter in from their window, dust and sand floating in the air. He looked at where Jean's sketchbook had been laying the night before, the pages open and clean, waiting to be brought to life.</p><p><br/>
Kevin had reflected a lot during his time with the foxes.<br/>
He used to sneak into the supply closet at the court when the panic was too much to handle. He stayed there, for seconds, minutes, hours and he watched the dust settle in and cover the equipment. Month after month after month.<br/>
The place he used - right near the door, next to the hinges, so that everyone who walked in wouldn't see him unless they were properly looking - was the only place not ruined by the dust. He was curious about it, about the fact that, contrary to what people tended to think, if you didn't use something, if you kept it safe and admired it, it wouldn't remain pristine.<br/>
What was left untouched didn't stay as good as new.<br/>
He had started training again. He didn't want to get dusty.
He used to look at his hand in those moments. He flexed his fingers and traced the silver scar, touching it wouldn't really give him the chills. He was used to the feeling of scar tissue under his fingers, but seeing it always brought back the memories.<br/>
He reasoned that he didn't miss all the trophies he had left behind, the ones the master made him polish so that they wouldn’t get covered in dust and mean nothing. Now he knew.<br/>
What he missed was his books, the picture of his mom, her handwriting on that scary letter. He missed Jean. He missed Jean and the way he would kiss his skin, the way he would hold his hand and sing to him, always smiling, always soothing. Always calm.<br/>
He would spiral again then, because Jean had trusted him, he had promised. He had to win, he had to win, he had to win.<br/>
He flexed his hand.<br/>
But how could he?<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
Jean was caressing his back, brushing colours on his skin. Kevin didn't know where he got the idea, but he was now holding a make-up palette, all bright colours and deep blues. Like the sea.<br/>
Kevin had vetoed him using real paint, too afraid it would never come off. Jean had gone out, while Kevin was still asleep, and bought makeup. Some nail polish too. Kevin didn't know what to do about it, but he didn't care. He just liked to lay there, relax and feel Jean bringing a masterpiece to life on his skin.<br/>
Jean still used to hum his French lullabies under his breath, but they were no longer laced with defiance and fear and desperation. They were just words and a silly melody. They were his and Kevin loved them. He sang back to him at times, holding his gaze and waiting for his smile.<br/>
Jean was still wearing the rings Kevin had gifted him, his silly shirt covering his bare torso against the chilly breeze. Kevin loved him. He loved him and his clever fingers painting the sky on his back.<br/>
"Like Atlas," Jean had whispered, awe in his voice and reverence in his movements, "holding the weight of the world on his shoulders."<br/>
"Then I'm lucky to have you painting a beautiful world for me to hold." He had whispered back.
Jean had leaned in, kissing the back of his head, long hair brushing over Kevin's ear. Kevin had kept him there, just for a bit, arm straining to reach behind him. Jean had kissed his bicep too. Kevin had let him go, eager to see what kind of world Jean had dreamed for them.<br/>
It was bright and deep and ever reaching. It was angels and flowers and a lot of water. Kevin had looked at it in the mirror, bending his neck and going on his tiptoes. He had begged Jean to take a picture of it. Jean did it, just because he loved him.<br/>
"I don't want it to wash away."<br/>
That had been the first time Kevin had wondered how it would feel to get another tattoo, out of will, of wish, of desire.<br/>
Jean had printed the pictures for him. Kevin had looked at them every night.<br/>
The painting washed away eventually, but the white sheets of their bed kept holding all the colours of the rainbow. Kevin wanted to bring them with him, when they left.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
The flashbacks weren't always there, but, when his hand ached, right before stormy nights, Kevin couldn't help but look at it, expecting bones to stick out of his skin, rotting flesh and infected tissue. He cradled his hand to his chest, wrapping himself around it.<br/>
Everytime he did it he held his hand by the palm, scar up and facing his chest. This way, when he looked down, he would only see his fingers and, when his knees inevitably came up to constrict his heaving chest, they would meet his palm, not his scar. He wouldn't ruin himself further.<br/>
Sometimes, when the voices in his head were too loud, he would try to overpower them through Jean's singing. But Jean had always told him that French was the language of love and Kevin thought that, sometimes, love couldn't save the world.<br/>
He would feel tears stain his cheeks, green eyes wide open on the black room. He would stare at the other sleeping forms for hours, feeling out of place, a guest, a prisoner, afraid to move. He lived in fear of standing up and disturbing the others, fearing their rage, their disappointment.<br/>
He had taken to sleep with a green tie under his pillow, then. He realized he couldn't get up in the middle of the night. He realized he needed physical touch to push back the memories. Sometimes defiant french words weren't enough.<br/>
Kevin had never been a man of philosophy. He liked myths and history and fairytales, but he had never given much thought to philosophy. He had found this author, however, that managed to describe fear as he felt it.<br/>
His history books always described fear as a catalyst, as the final push that manages to turn an action into a reaction. Fear was fight or flight for Betsy.<br/>
But not for Kevin.<br/>
Fear had always been paralyzing, like something forcing your feet to the ground, yelling at you to do something, but holding you firmly by your ankles. It felt like quicksand and watching a tsunami rapidly approaching but staying there, waiting for the wall of water to make its way toward you.<br/>
A lot of people thought that fear pushed you to a decision.<br/>
Kevin didn’t.<br/>
For Kevin fear deprived you of all of them. You're stuck, you can't focus, you hear thousands of different opinions yelled at you from every direction, but you simply can't turn your head to acknowledge any of them. Fear, for Kevin, was like standing in the middle of a minefield, knowing that every possible step would lead to a detonation and still choosing the slow death of starvation over the possibility of a quick one.<br/>
Fear, to Kevin, felt a lot like hope. Hope of being saved. Just wait it out, someone will come for you.<br/>
Fear felt like hope and a knight in shining armour, but he was on his own this time. This time his knight was trapped in the castle and it was Kevin's turn to slay the dragon.<br/>
Fear felt like hope, so he went to bed every night with a green tie under his pillow and woke up every morning to soft silk wrapped around his left hand.<br/>
Fear, at times, felt like a promise.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
"You should probably talk to Gabby." Jean said.<br/>
"Why? Can't I just go and pay her to get a tattoo?"<br/>
Jean lifted his eyebrow. "Are you having a breakdown?"<br/>
Kevin was quick to reply. "No!" Then, "Maybe, I don't know, it feels right."<br/>
"Like alcohol?"<br/>
There wasn't bitterness in Jean's voice, just facts, but Kevin still glared at him.<br/>
"Look, Kev, I will support you either way, but you have to be sure about this."<br/>
Kevin scowled. "People get stupid tattoos all the time and don't regret it."<br/>
"But this is different, this isn't stupid." Jean brushed his thumb over the queen piece.<br/>
Kevin averted his gaze, but said nothing.<br/>
"I know what it means to you, to finally have something that feels yours. I know how you felt after this." He moved his thumb back and forth, a small smile on his lips. "But I also know <em>you</em> and I know you do nothing unless you're completely sure you won't regret it."<br/>
"I left you."<br/>
Jean smiled, a hurt thing. "And you came back stronger."<br/>
"He hurt you."<br/>
"Same as you."<br/>
"Worse."<br/>
"How do you know?" Jean kept holding his cheeks, his soft rumbling voice soothing Kevin's fears.<br/>
"I saw the bruises, I saw the scars." He pointed his gaze on Jean's chest. "I see them."<br/>
Jean cradled his hand. "I see them too."<br/>
Kevin sighed, letting himself fall into Jean's waiting arms, traitorous tears trying to spill. He could feel his bottom lip tremble, but he fought to hold everything in.<br/>
He didn't manage.<br/>
The next breath he took was broken and wet, like a bone snapping under the pressure. "I'm sorry."<br/>
Jean shushed him, kissing the top of his head. "You don't have to be."<br/>
Soft french words filled the room. Kevin fell asleep cradling his hand to his chest, another strong one, glowing in jewels and scars, wrapped around his own.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
"Just draw it, please." Kevin begged. "I promise I will wait to get it, but I want to see it."<br/>
Jean kicked water at him. At least it wasn't sand this time.<br/>
They were by the sea. Kevin had learned how to swim. Day after day after day, he had become braver, following Jean to the deep end, where his feet didn't touch the ground and he couldn't see what was laying under the surface.<br/>
It had taken him some time to figure out that, even if his feet weren't touching the sand, Jean's were pretty firmly planted on the ground. He had been too excited to realize that he had been safe the whole time.<br/>
Jean preferred laying in the sun, layers of sunscreen covering his skin, a big hat shielding his eyes. He read, usually, but Kevin liked to look at him drawing. He had been begging him for a design, for an idea, for the past few days.<br/>
"Come on, Jean. We don't know when we'll have time to see each other again, I'll have to move to my new team. You too."<br/>
Jean scoffed. "Don't remind me."<br/>
"They're a good team."<br/>
"But you're not on it, because you love lost causes."<br/>
Kevin scowled. "It's not a lost cause." But decided to change the topic. "I'm just saying, we don't know how much time will pass till we see each other again, till I have the opportunity to see one of your drawings." He laid down beside Jean, lifting the brim of his hat to meet his eyes. "I'll take it as a trial: if I get sick of looking at the same design over and over again, I won't get it on my skin."<br/>
Jean still looked sceptical.<br/>
"But I've never gotten bored of your art before."<br/>
"Lèche-cul."<br/>
"It's true."<br/>
"You're just trying to corrupt me."<br/>
Kevin kissed his cheek. "Is it working?"<br/>
Jean scoffed, but didn't push him away.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
That night Kevin entered their room to find a folded piece of paper waiting on his pillow. His was the one on the right, so that Jean could still wrap himself around him while his left hand remained lifted.<br/>
He wiped his hands on the sheets, afraid that the water from his shower would ruin Jean's work.<br/>
There was a small note on the back of the paper. "Pour Kevin. Trop têtu." And little upset faces beside it. Kevin smiled.<br/>
He admired Jean's handwriting, sharp and thin and so very delicate. His were the words he could imagine written on a letter to a king. Kevin’s mother, on the other hand, used big and round letters that had always managed to make him feel safe and at home.
He had used to write like her, copying her writing as a way to carry on her legacy. The same reasoning that was behind him trying to play good exy.
After the incident, after his hand had been shattered and Jean's green tie had held his skin together, he had learned to write again. He had cried the first time he saw what his words would look like now, shaky and ugly and so far from home. It had felt like a betrayal.<br/>
Kevin unfolded the piece of paper and was met with thick black lines and a swirl of colours. It was the outline of a statue of Atlas, one knee on the ground, like he was readying himself to stand up. The world on his shoulders was a mix of shapes and colours that reminded Kevin of what Jean had painted on his back days before. Behind the world, as a background, was drawn an array of constellations, an arrow pointed to them: "white ink".<br/>
Kevin walked into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Jean's waist. "So you changed your mind." He kissed his neck.<br/>
Jean kept cutting vegetables, seemingly not bothered or interested. "About what?"<br/>
"Me getting a tattoo."<br/>
"I didn't." He dropped the knife and moved aside to put the tomatoes in a bowl.<br/>
Kevin followed his every step, lips never leaving Jean's neck. "Then why did you write 'white ink' for the constellations."<br/>
Jean stilled. "I-" He went quiet for a moment, then batted Kevin away. "Maybe it's a tattoo <em>I</em> want."<br/>
Kevin smiled. "Sure." Then turned around, taking Jean's hand in his own. "What do you think? On my arm, my ribs, my back?"<br/>
"Nowhere for now."<br/>
Kevin huffed. "And I'm the stubborn one?"<br/>
Jean smirked. "It takes one to know one."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
Their make out session ended several minutes later. Kevin loved Jean's hair after it, all messy and framing his face. Kevin had to kiss his forehead.<br/>
His thoughts were interrupted by Jean swatting at his chest. "Ribs, but you'll have to make it heal before putting gear on. I don't want you to sweat over Gabby's work."<br/>
Kevin was smiling so brightly he was afraid he would blind Jean.<br/>
"Don't look at me like that. I know that you'd hate not being able to hide it under your clothes and I know you'll try to play exy before it's all healed."<br/>
Kevin was still beaming at him. "That only means I have to get it this summer, before the season starts."<br/>
"Or you could wait for Christmas break."<br/>
"I still train on Christmas."<br/>
Now it was Jean's turn to smile. "Of course you do."<br/>
"We could train together this year, you could come to my dad's."<br/>
Jean stuttered. "Kevin." It sounded like a warning.<br/>
Kevin pressed on. "I'll buy you a gift. I could wear my green tie." He wrapped his arms around Jean, letting him hide his face on his shoulder. "I could help Abby cook. We could listen to music."<br/>
"We could dance." Jean added, a bit stiff.<br/>
Kevin nodded. "We could." He could feel Jean relax against him, letting out the breath he had been holding. "Till I stomp on your feet." He let out a small chuckle.<br/>
Jean flicked his ear. "Don't try to get out of this. We all practiced for the banquets."<br/>
"Well, practice doesn't always make perfect."<br/>
Jean just lifted an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, and yours is only talent."<br/>
Kevin smiled. "Yep. I was born for exy."<br/>
Jean smirked. "Then don't train on Christmas, you don't need it."<br/>
Kevin groaned. "I lied."<br/>
Jean kissed his cheek. "I know and I'll forgive you if you wash the dishes tonight."<br/>
"I basically always wash them."<br/>
"And I'm grateful for that, you know I hate the soggy bits of food that cling-" Jean stopped, making a disgusted face. "You know what? The first thing I buy for my new house is a pair of those stupid yellow gloves that every housewife has."<br/>
Kevin laughed. "I thought you were going to buy a bookshelf."<br/>
Jean shook his head. "No, gloves first and a double bed second." Jean looked at him. "You're planning on visiting, right?"<br/>
Kevin nodded. "Of course." He cleared his throat. "Sure."<br/>
"Good."<br/>
Kevin was looking at the floor. "The first thing I'm going to buy is a car. You're just an hour away."<br/>
Jean lifted his chin. "At least we play in the same division."<br/>
Kevin nodded.<br/>
"You know what that means?"<br/>
Kevin nodded again.<br/>
Jean was smiling at him. "If one of us goes to the playoffs, the other probably doesn't. That means we get to support each other."<br/>
"I want to win."<br/>
"Maybe they'll trade me, if I'm not good enough." Jean was smiling.<br/>
"You know you can't say that."<br/>
Jean huffed. "Yeah, Ichirou, the deal, my wasted potential." He brushed a hand through his hair. "I just want to see you."<br/>
Kevin took his hand. "I promise you I'll drive to you whenever I can. I love you, Jean. I want to see you too, but we have to work a bit for that."<br/>
"I wasn't kidding about getting traded. As soon as I made enough money, I'll join your team of lost causes." He smiled at Kevin. "We'll win the championship together, the Olympics, nationals; you tell me and I'll do it."<br/>
Kevin kissed his forehead. "You do whatever you want, Jean."<br/>
It sounded like a promise.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
"Have you packed everything already?"<br/>
"Yeah." Jean sounded sad.<br/>
Kevin patted his back. "Come on, Jeremy is waiting for us."<br/>
"Let him wait."<br/>
Kevin rolled his eyes. "Jean."<br/>
He moved Kevin's hand away. "I know, I know." He turned away. "I'm grateful, I really am, it's just hard to leave everything behind."<br/>
Kevin hugged him. "You're not leaving anything behind. This is just a new beginning."<br/>
Jean took a deep breath. He looked so sad and defeated. "I'm tired of new beginnings, Kev. I just want to keep what I already have."<br/>
Kevin sighed. "I know." He tightened his arms around Jean. "But I want you to remember that I'm just a phone call away. Whenever you need me, it takes only an hour for me to reach you. Okay?"<br/>
Jean nodded. "Yeah."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
Jeremy was waiting for them at the end of the road, his little green car parked in the shadows of the few trees lining the road.<br/>
"Hey!" He waved and immediately started to walk over to them. He hugged Jean and took Kevin’s suitcase, as welcoming as ever. "I see the sun has treated you well, look at that tan!" He turned to Jean. "You didn't even burn this time."<br/>
Jean nodded from under his sunglasses, his eyes had been a bit misty. "I brought a hat with me this time."<br/>
Jeremy bumped their shoulders together. "Smart man."<br/>
Kevin loved to see Jean and Jeremy's new relationship, he could still feel a bit of rigidity, but they were both trying. Jean too. Kevin was so proud.<br/>
"And Kevin," Jeremy turned his eyes on him. "How was the beach? Jean told me that you were excited about swimming."<br/>
"I did." Kevin nodded, the biggest smile stretching his lips. "I'm actually quite good at swimming right now."<br/>
Jean huffed, half disbelieving, half amused. "Such arrogance."<br/>
Kevin ignored him. "It's good that I've learned because I'm planning to use the swimming pool a lot on my new team. Better for my knees."<br/>
"True! My team has a swimming pool too. I'm so excited about playing with new people, even if I'll miss my teammates." Jeremy was looking at Jean, expecting.<br/>
Kevin pointedly nodded at Jean over Jeremy's shoulders.<br/>
Jean closed his eyes. "I'll miss you too, Jeremy." There was a bit of silence. "You're a good captain."<br/>
For a moment the only sound Kevin could hear was the wheels of their suitcases rolling on the hot asphalt.<br/>
Then Jeremy smiled. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll see each other at practice for the Olympics team."<br/>
Kevin firmly believed it.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
Kevin was thinking about those words when he landed in his new city, waiting for the same suitcase that had accompanied him on his vacation with Jean. It was the colour of one of Jean's silly shirts, bright and comforting.<br/>
He texted Jean: "just landed."<br/>
He knew Jean wouldn't immediately reply, he was on a flight too. They had left together, saying goodbye at the airport, Jeremy's little car in the background. Jean had looked ready to take over the world.<br/>
"Be good." Kevin had whispered in his ear.<br/>
"Be kind." Was his reply.<br/>
Kevin had nodded, ribs still itching a bit from the Californian heat. A reminder of that summer.<br/>
Jean had let him go with a promise to call as soon as he landed.<br/>
<br/>
The heat of the trafficked city and his phone buzzing in his pocket brought him back to the present.
Jean: “Just landed. I’m going to leave the suitcases at the apartment and then I’m off shopping for a king sized mattress.”
Kevin smiled.
He paid the taxi driver and walked out on the streets. The tall, modern building in front of him stretching indefinitely to the sky. He took out his keys.<br/>
The first thing he bought for his new apartment was a frame, Jean's drawing now hanging in the middle of the living room.<br/>
Kevin could see himself calling it a home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Lèche-cul." Means Kiss-ass, it's pretty rude.</p><p>"Pour Kevin. Trop têtu." Means "For Kevin. Too stubborn."</p><p> </p><p>Oh, and I'm figuringthengsout on tumblr.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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